England -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction; Teachers -- Fiction
Speed blushed furiously and was silent. A sudden new feeling, which he
diagnosed as jealousy, swept across him; followed by a further series of
feelings which were no more than various forms of annoyance and
exacerbation. He clenched his fists and gave a slight shrug of his
shoulders.
"How do you know all this?" he queried, in the staccato bark that was so
accurate a register of his temper.
"Smallwood isn't the fellow to keep such an affair secret," replied
Clanwell. "But don't, Speed, go and do anything rash. If I were you I
should go back and--"
"I shan't do anything rash," interrupted Speed, curtly. "You needn't
worry. Good-night.... I suppose I ought to thank you for your kindness
in telling me what you have."
When he had gone he regretted that final remark. It was, he decided,
uselessly and pointlessly cynical.
II
It was a pity, perhaps, that in his present mood he went straight back
to Lavery's and to Helen. He found her sitting, as usual, by the fire
when he entered; he made no remark, but came and sat opposite to her.
Neither of them spoke for a few moments. That was not unusual for them,
for Helen had frequent fits of taciturnity, and Speed, becoming familiar
with them, found himself adopting similar habits. After, however, a
short space of silence, he broke it by saying: "Helen, do you mind if we
have a serious talk for a little while."
She looked up and said, quietly: "Where have you been?"
"Clanwell's," he replied, and as soon as he had done so he realised that
she would easily guess who had informed him. A pity that he had answered
her so readily.
"What do you want to ask me?"
He said, rather loudly, as always when he was nervous: "Helen, I'm going
to be quite straightforward. No beating about the bush, you
understand?--You've had Smallwood in here to tea lately, while I've been
out."
"Well?" Her voice, irritatingly soft, just as his own was irritatingly
loud, contained a mixture of surprise and mockery. "And what if I have?"
He gripped the arms of the wicker-chair with his fists, causing a
creaking sound that seemed additionally to discompose him. "Helen, you
can't do it, that's all. You mustn't. It won't do.... It..."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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